


DEFEATED.

by InvidiaSaunder



Series: Doomrauder [1]
Category: DOOM - Fandom, Doom: Eternal
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Fetish, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Psychology, Roleplay, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27081988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvidiaSaunder/pseuds/InvidiaSaunder
Summary: The war is over.  Urdak is defeated, the demonic invasion is stopped, and humanity celebrates the victory of the Doom Slayer.  But he feels nothing about it, only tired of the responsibility to be a hero.  He needs to feel weak.  Defeated.  For these purposes, the Marine concludes a truce on special terms with his former ally, and now the worst enemy - the Marauder.
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy/Marauder(s)
Series: Doomrauder [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976530
Kudos: 18





	DEFEATED.

Step. Another.  
Heavy boots fight thumping thuds as their wearer slowly climbs the stairs, heading for the central hall of the space base called Fortress of Doom. Here, in this oasis of short-lived peace, he could at least temporarily forget about his destiny.  
One more step. Other.  
The pitiful remnants of the demonic army were destroyed a few hours ago, but death squeals are still in the ears, and the hands remember the sensation of tearing flesh. Burning eyes from everywhere look with hatred and fear. Even here, miles from the surface of the Earth, this victim of endless attacks, the smell of rot and burnt flesh smells.  
Step again. Farther.  
The survivors come to the surface for the first time since the invasion. An insignificant percentage of the lucky ones who are destined to mourn the dead for many years and revive their civilization almost from the very beginning. They look with hope, they praise past feats, shouting over each other, they compose loud eulogies, they wait ... for what?  
One more step. How hard it is to go.  
\- Welcome back, master.  
They all need protection. A responsibility. Hero. Demon's killer. Liquidator of threats. Doom Slayer.  
\- Master?  
Step. Yet. Legs are like cotton. Hurry to be in safe.  
\- Master, are you allright?  
The Slayer shudders, cut off from his thoughts in a calm and sympathetic voice. Not that he considered himself the only legitimate inhabitant of this place, but lately the existence of the rest has been seen as if against the background, as if what is happening is nothing more than a skillful production in one of the local theaters. The show is over and it's time to go home.  
Home.  
\- Yes, VEGA. Turn off the protective field.  
A few seconds pass before the expected agreement still sounds in the same soft tone. It would seem that artificial intelligence trusted even such, to put it mildly, reckless instructions from the commander. Or, he simply did not want to argue, noticing the state of his friend. A smart solution for an equally smart machine. A short squeak on the dashboard indicates that the stronghold's protection has been disabled, and the cold neon glow is replaced by an alarming red - a color that haunts even in dreams when it was possible to forget for a while. The ex-Marine shakes his head in displeasure and frowns at the obsession before heading towards his personal compartment. There is safe. Relative, unstable, but attracting to itself in the same way as a warm blanket beckons a human child, under which, if you strongly believe, not a single monster could reach. That's just - what an irony! - the Slayer did not have his own faith, which could not be said about the monsters.  
\- Did you not crush the heads of the unfortunate monsters on Earth enough, or is it not a pity for expensive equipment? I dare not even ask about the rest, although my destruction is undoubtedly an irreparable loss for the progress of all mankind. - A mechanical voice that resounded in the silence of the room literally came through with venomous arrogance, even without trying to hide skepticism about the recent order: Our systems can be something more than just a decorative purpose.  
Leaving a deliberately rhetorical question unanswered, if an irritated look cannot be called that, and a sigh full of boring, the former protector of Argent D'Nur turns his back to the cyborg and with a careless wave of his hand activates the sensor compartment. A few more steps, and he finally gets to deserved illusion of peace.  
\- You did not have to turn off all protection if you need to de-energize a particular department.  
Startled, Doom Slayer freezes for a moment and grinds his teeth in annoyance before jerking through the open passage and hitting the dashboard, closing the door behind him until the sensors on the back side are triggered. The old cyborg was too shrewd not to guess the true reasons, and too rancorous to tactfully ignore them.  
A tired gaze absentmindedly slides across the room, already in a well-practiced habit, expecting an unexpected attack from the nearest corner. Even here, in a quiet and spacious room, the silence of which was broken only by the barely audible crunch of vegetables, busily grinding with rabbit teeth, he subconsciously prepared for an attack. Which, no doubt, Slayer will win, and when he will once again look empty into the space in front of him, brushing bits of rotten entrails from the plates of Praetorian armor. Was there any point in continuing to fight if the outcome was predetermined?  
The stream of thoughts is interrupted again for today, but this time the culprit is the alarming squeak of the dashboard and a dull rumble, indicating the opening of the hellish portal exactly behind the Argent warrior. He does not turn - only lazily turns off the alarm activated by the demonic presence before closing his aching eyes. Hearing, exacerbated by the unexpected darkness, catches a heavy footfall and, followed, a metallic click, a sense of smell - an instant smell of sulfur that haunted each of the demons, and... something else. Something that could not be identified, even after all the regular visits. The Slayer did not have to turn towards the newcomer in order to intuitively understand how the Marauder, having removed the protective plate from his face, throws his head back and inhales the air contently, apparently enjoying the absence of the disgusting hellish stench. An inhumanly long tongue quickly flickers between the fangs, the gaze of the scarlet eyes drilling the fair-haired back of the head is felt almost physically.  
And the Doom Slayer kneels before him.

They say that with great power comes great responsibility. So, then the Slayer was doubly lucky, because he did not choose anything from this. Only one disobedience to a fatal order from the distant past, and now, now he is the chosen one, in whose hands millions of human destinies languish and cry out for help every day. He remembered this as he tore the carcasses that smelled of rotten meat to pieces. He remembered gripping the handle of the Sword, thrusting the energy blade into the goat-like titan's brain. He remembered removing from his pedestal the most powerful weapon ever created by humans. And none of this could overshadow that all-consuming emptiness inside that corroded like hellish corrosion, settled on durable metal. Even the strongest and most persistent person needed to feel weak at least once. Doom Slayer needed more. He wanted to feel defeated.  
“You failed, Great Warrior. You couldn't protect them. An insinuating hiss echoes in his head, and the man breaks into a soft groan, arching in a tenacious grip. Sharp claws leave long, bloody streaks on the chest, while the powerful body of its owner jerked with each sharp thrust, consumed with a sweet shiver: “You have lost. A man is not able to defeat our army, no matter how exceptional he may be. Accept your defeat, Doom Slayer.  
Both of those present knew that what was said was a lie. But, thoughts left the heavy head, leaving behind only emptiness and lightness, and the infantryman himself surrendered himself to the power of the demon that possessed him with desperate greed, allowing his body to be used like a weak-willed doll to satisfy base needs. He was almost grateful to his former comrade-in-arms, when he, lazily moving his hand and thereby thrusting his mouth onto his own penis, pondered about an imaginary defeat, making him tremble with hot humiliation and, at the same time, so acute tears, mixing with thick droplets of viscous saliva and semen. The Marauder knew what this fallen man needed, and therefore allowed himself to be roughly pulled by his hair, leaving bloody bites on his unprotected throat only a couple of millimeters from the carotid artery. He allowed him to squeeze the buttocks, dazzling with multi-colored bruises, brutally hammering into the body obediently standing in front of him, not at all caring about his well-being and, especially, pleasure. The victor's rights, albeit imaginary ones, offered too much not to deem it necessary to use them.  
When the Slayer first voiced his terms, the demon thought that he had misheard. True surrealism is to offer a short-term truce for the mutual benefit of the sworn enemy, but this is exactly what the Marine did before unloading the weapon into the wall and raising his eyes invisible through the glass of his helmet, waiting for someone else's answer. The fallen one was in gloomy confusion, trying to find a catch. Not that he generally made sense to continue a senseless war - after the death of Khan Maykr, the dynasty of Argent D'Nur monarchs was interrupted, which means that there was no legitimate, in his opinion, ruler, whose interests the former Guardian was obliged to protect. None - except for this strange man whom the old king had for some reason chosen as his successor. And who offered to use himself as a personal bitch.  
This became a kind of ritual. A fetish that satisfied both. The Marauder received an uncomplaining and obedient body, the rough use of which gratified the flesh and pride. Doom Slayer is getting a long-awaited peace and an opportunity for a while to transfer oppressive power into the wrong hands. Contrary to expectations, the deathly pale skin of the demon was not cold, it was bursting from within with the energy of Hell, instead of blood flowing through dark veins, and this heat absorbed in itself heavy thoughts of infinite responsibility, just as dry leaves flare up and burn in a flame, not leaving behind no trace, no ashes. Holding on to the powerful horns in order to find at least some point of support in an uncomfortable position, the infantryman exhaled tornly through tightly clenched teeth, screwed up his eyes and broke into a stifled cry with a particularly sharp jolt stretching the passage not adapted for such fun. The member of the Marauder, noticeably thicker and longer than a human, unmercifully pressed on the insides, right up to the outlines on the muscular stomach, the demon himself knew no mercy, thrusting on the hot flesh with force and enjoying the painful moans that now and then escaped from the Slayer's dry larynx. Not having the slightest desire to understand what was going on in the head of this man, the former Night Guardian, according to the agreement, came every day and silently watched as his opponent calmly got rid of his clothes before pressing his weight into a cold bed and taking possession naked body. It amused him how such a formidable warrior coughs and gasps when the organ slippery from saliva and lubrication went too deep into his open throat, how he spits thick semen on the floor and wipes his mouth with his scarred elbow, while trying to swallow and relieve the burning sensation in his fucked throat. The Slayer did not outline the scope of what was permissible in his... proposal, and therefore the demon allowed himself to forcefully push his legs apart to pain in the stretched tendons, not only facilitating his access, but also gloatingly revealing his muscular body, forcing him to feel again and again the heat of humiliation that invariably accompanied the fall into the power of darkness. The stranger, who was once the named brother to him and his family, infuriated him with his unbearable vitality, confused him with idiotic demands, instead of overpowering in fair battle, as befits any of the Argent's people, and yet, all the same! He continued to have a strong bond with each of the former members of the Night Guard. The connection, whether it was wrong, made you close your eyes to your own principles - and did the moral of those who were transformed under the influence of Hell still have?  
“Your people would only know how sweetly you moan, allowing you to be fucked by those you have sworn to destroy. This is the fate of the loser, man, the fate of being the winner's mat.  
The Slayer narrows his eyes and quickly nods his head, agreeing with every word spoken. He doesn't care how he looked from the outside. Yes, and who could have seen his fall, except for the silent pet rabbit and the demon, who knows his precarious, almost suicidal position, because at any moment his services could cease to be needed. No, no one would have seen how the Darkness lovingly envelops a living, but wounded soul with its tenacious tentacles, lulling like a mother's voice in its deceptively tender embrace. No one will see how his tormenting thoughts disappear under the cruel pressure from the horned one, with what delight he takes in dirty, gray-smelling flesh, cleansing his head under the influence of mortal sin. At times, the former Marine sincerely regretted that only two of them remained from the entire Guard of Argent, for he would gladly surrender to the greedy hands of seven. Allowing to do whatever he wanted with his body, he would accept again and again until the oppression of responsibility completely disappears.  
“I can feel your thoughts, Great Warrior. The willingness to spread his legs in front of a whole crowd - how unworthy for a hero! After all, you're not a hero, are you? You are insignificant. You are a usurper who has taken a power that you do not know how to use. You will be destroyed, Slayer, I promise it. We will mutilate your body, and Hell will consume one more soul that decides to contradict him. The fallen's growl grew at an unrestrained pace. Without leaving the resignedly accepting body, he roughly held his hair, pushing his long tongue into his painfully open mouth, drowning out the moans and cries of the Marine with a kind of imitation of a kiss. Flexible, dark flesh greedily slid along a row of teeth and penetrated to the very throat, forcing him to gasp: “Everyone who considered you their savior will see your fall.  
Losing touch with reality, the Soldier breaks into a convulsive sob and opens his eyes for the first time to look at his own reflection. Naked, trembling, clutching the veil up to the whitened knuckles, he thoughtlessly looked into his own tear-stained face, twitching with each sharp movement of his pale thighs, hammering heated flesh into the stretched hole. Demonic eyes burned fiercely, burning with their flames - everything indicated that the fallen one was receiving perverse pleasure from what was happening, not at all regretting the concluded agreement. Letting go of his hair tousled from a strong grip, the former Guardian hugs the Marine across the scratched chest and presses him with his wide back to himself, thereby depriving him of the slightest chance to get away from too sharp and rough penetration. And the human is glad for the first time that none of his current allies would be able to access the personal compartment - it is unlikely that he could adequately explain what is happening, and why the Demon Slayer groans so desperately under the furious pressure of one of these same hellish creatures, spreading his legs to the manner of the best whore on earth. Why, with difficulty turning on one hand, he kisses the demon so greedily, allowing him to lick his neck and leave marks like a starving predator. Confess the agonizing need to feel weak? What a pity.  
“Stop your senseless trek, human bitch. Surrender yourself to the power of Hell! Resistance will no longer do you any good. - The already hoarse voice of the Marauder broke into an animal roar. The movements became sharper, and the hard flesh began to pulsate perceptibly deep inside the body that had submitted to someone else's will - the demon approached its edge: - Surrender! Accept your defeat, Doom Slayer.  
And the next moment, the Marine lets out a drawn-out groan, full of unbearable and almost painful relief, arching in his wounded back to a tangible crunch. His own flesh treacherously twitches, shooting out whitish drops, and deep inside, along with the heat of demonic sperm, the long-awaited warmth spread, destroying the remnants of the former tension. Thoughts leave the head at once, leaving behind only a pleasant emptiness, and the man falls exhausted on the crumpled bed, not even trying to overcome the post-orgasmic convulsions. How good. How free. It was as if all the numerous fetters that tormented both day and night were asleep at once, just as the hellish furies of sinners who fell into their clawed paws torment. There is only enough strength to roll over with difficulty and detachedly hold his palm between the trembling legs, wiping the viscous semen of the fallen Guardian. The latter greeted this action with a smug grin, before fastening the numerous straps of the Argent's old armor back and opening the portal, with the clear intention of leaving the territory of the space base and leaving the weakened after intercourse man alone with his - ha - demons.  
\- You can stay if you have nowhere else to go.  
The voice sounds so casual and calm that the meaning of the spoken words does not immediately reach the consciousness of the horned one. However, as soon as this happens, the demon stops abruptly, seemingly puzzled by such an unexpected and completely irrational proposal. Likewise, the Marine froze at the recent barbs from the barely functioning cyborg, and so he watched with curiosity the reaction to his words, not disappointed in the least when the fallen, with an indefinite chuckle, stepped into the portal that instantly closed behind his back. More than expected. But if it comes to the plans of the Doom Slayer, then getting what you want is just a matter of time.  
Anyway, he can sleep tonight.  
\-----------------------------------  
The silence of the spacious space station is broken by the thud of heavy Argent boots, followed by a broken, mechanical voice asking in astonished disbelief:  
"You ... what did you suggest?"


End file.
